The Countess Conspiracy

  “Yes,” Sebastian said, “it most certainly would, wouldn’t it?”

  “I could be known far and wide for my affability,” Violet said. “I’ve never been known for my affability.”

  “No,” Sebastian said. “You most certainly haven’t, have you?”

  She looked up at him, her eyebrows rising, but she didn’t remark on his word choice. “And I would use my spare time to think about all the things I want to consider. Maybe this time I would hit on an area of research that you’d be willing to present.”

  “No,” Sebastian said, more slowly this time. “You most likely wouldn’t, would you? It’s not the nature of the work, Violet, but the person who does it.”

  She looked up at him. “Really? There’s nothing I could choose? No subject at all?”

  You, Sebastian thought. You. Everything about you. “I told you earlier. I’m thinking about shipping.”

  She made a face. “Ugh. Shipping. That sounds messy. A collection of general principles, true only in aggregate, which any person can flout with impunity just because he feels like it.”

  “Yes,” he said mockingly, “it most certainly is awful, isn’t it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “God, that is annoying. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. I need a cleverer automaton. This one will have me hurled bodily from the houses I visit.”

  “No,” Sebastian said. “They’ll have your automaton hurled from the houses you visit—and think of the advantages.” He winked at her and leaned in, gesturing her closer.

  She leaned forward.

  “You’ll never have to visit those houses again,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “God, don’t make me laugh, Sebastian.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. You’re going to make me forget—make me comfortable—”

  He smiled. “That is the entire point. Get your back up all you wish. Rage at me for hours. Feel uncomfortable. At the end of the day, I’ll still bring you apples and make you laugh.”

  She sniffed suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Because.” He lowered his voice. “I love that I can make you laugh.”

  She stared at him, frowning in consternation. She looked away and chose a biscuit from the tray. “Don’t try for stupid things.”

  Someone else would think her rude. Someone else might imagine her unfeeling. Someone else might think she was all thorns, no soft, sweet petals. Sebastian knew her better than that.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Violet,” he finally said. “I’m too clever for that.”

  Chapter Eight

  FOUR BAGS OF MARBLES. Three decks of cards. A bottle of brandy, two of burgundy, a quantity of oranges—Sebastian checked the last item off his list and looked up, making a survey of the private dining room.

  Blue bunting decorated the walls and festive trays of food covered the tables. They spilled over with grapes, cheeses, little sandwiches, large cuts of meat, cakes, pies, biscuits, pastries…it all added up to a regular feast of celebration indeed.

  There was only one thing missing from Sebastian’s little party: guests. And by the clock, they’d be here—

  The door opened.

  “Oh, good Lord.” Oliver, his cousin, stopped in the doorway. He ran one hand through his ginger hair and adjusted the spectacles on his nose in disbelief.

  Yes, the effect was rather impressive, if Sebastian said so himself. He folded his arms and tried not to preen too obviously.

  “Are we really expected to eat all of that?” Oliver asked in hushed tones.

  “Not we,” Sebastian said grandly. “You.”

  “There is an entire pig on that table. I have to stand up tomorrow morning.” Oliver shook his head. “Also, I would prefer not to vomit during my wedding ceremony. Jane might get the wrong idea.”

  “Robert and I will hold you upright. It was his job to bring the bucket tonight. We’ll see if he… Oh, there you are, Robert. Nice of you to join us.”

  “Bucketless,” Oliver muttered.

  “Bucketless?” Robert shook his head. “What are you two nattering on about?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Sebastian smiled. “Come in, then. Come and gawk at the magnificence I have provided.” He stepped aside and let his friends enter the room. Oliver looked all around, impressed despite himself.

  Sebastian and Robert had made the sign hanging over the table. “Congratulations* Oliver!” it read in bright, multihued letters. The asterisk after the congratulations led to a footnote, spelled out in tiny black letters along the bottom of the banner.

  Oliver stepped close and peered up at the canvas. “On managing to bamboozle an otherwise intelligent, lovely young woman into marrying you, which is quite possibly your greatest accomplishment to date,” he read aloud. But he was smiling as he did. “You’re right. Completely right. I still can’t quite wrap my head around my good fortune.”

  “You should have been there when they first met,” Sebastian told Robert. “It was quite an event.”

  “You weren’t there when we first met.” Oliver frowned. “Were you?”

  “When they second met,” Sebastian corrected himself with a shrug. “She talked him in circles and afterward, he kept glancing over his shoulder and refusing to talk about her. It was love at second meeting. It was obvious to everyone except him; he took months to figure it out.”

  Robert snickered. “God, you should have seen him mope about her. It was catastrophic. I thought something awful had happened, and he never even mentioned her name.”

  “I am right here,” Oliver announced. “Standing in front of you two.”

  A casual glance across the room would not instantly make one think that Robert and Oliver were related. Robert’s hair was blond; Oliver’s was almost orange, and he had a smattering of freckles dotting his nose in contrast to Robert’s pale skin. But beyond those superficial details, they looked so much alike. The same ice-blue eyes; the same sharp nose. They shared many of the same mannerisms. The two were practically inseparable, and had been since they’d discovered they were half-brothers years before.

  “Oh, right,” Robert said in feigned surprise. “You are here. I suppose we’ll have to save the gossip about you for tomorrow night when you’ll be otherwise occupied. Tonight, you celebrate the last evening before your marriage in the style that only the Brothers Sinister can provide!”

  “Yes,” Sebastian said. “We have here only the most sinister of foods—which is to say that any man who eats with his right hand must be made to drink an entire glass of my famous punch.”

  The three of them—and Violet—had been called the Brothers Sinister since their days at Eton, mostly because they’d been left-handed and constantly in one another’s company.

  Oliver winced. “Oh, God. No. Tell me you’re not making your wine punch.”

  “I have a bottle of thistle spirits for that precise purpose.”

  Oliver shook his head; Robert looked mildly ill. Sebastian grinned all the more. The thistle spirits came from one of the tenants on his estate, and they were as bad as they sounded: green, bitter, with bits of plant matter floating on top. They had a bite that snapped one’s head back. Sebastian had practiced for weeks when he was nineteen so that he might drink the stuff without grimacing. It had been one of his favorite pranks at university.

  Here, try this.

  “So,” Robert said. “Remember, only the left hand may be used—easy for Sebastian and me, but those of us odd enough to use either hand with equal utility”—this, with a frown at Oliver— “must make an effort to recall proper behavior. It’s time to start the festivities!”

  “Wait.” Sebastian held up his hand. “We can’t start. Violet’s not here yet.”

  Robert turned to him and then, ever so slowly, let out a breath between his teeth. “Ah,” he said. “Uh.”

  “Robert.” Sebastian took a step forward. “Where is Violet?”

  “Uh…”

  “Did she refuse to come? I know that we’ve been, u
m, a little out of sorts, but I didn’t think she’d actually avoid my company with the rest of you lot around.”

  Robert bit his lip. “About that…”

  “You did invite her, didn’t you?”

  Robert looked away. “I thought…she’s only an honorary member…”

  “An honorary member!” Sebastian took another step forward. “You didn’t even ask her? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “She isn’t a brother,” Oliver put in defensively, “as she isn’t a boy. She wasn’t with us at Eton. And she isn’t even left-handed. Honestly, the honorary membership has always seemed to me to be something of a gift. She doesn’t meet any of the criteria to be a Brother Sinister, and it is only in light of her—”

  “In light of the fact that we grew up with Violet,” Sebastian said through his teeth. “In light of the fact that she has been with us through our hardest times and never once complained about her own life. In light of the fact that she helped Jane last month with her uncle—something I think you should try and recall, Oliver.”

  Oliver had the grace to look ashamed.

  “And you two think it’s no problem to shunt her aside simply because she isn’t actually left-handed?”

  Oliver pursed his lips. “All of that is true, but in the interest of technical accuracy, I did not meet her until I was fifteen.”

  Sebastian slammed his fist into his palm. “Irrelevant. Robert, I told you to make sure the Brothers Sinister were present. It was your only task aside from helping with the sign. I wrangled the pig, the pastries, the sesame cakes, the…” He sputtered in outrage. “And you couldn’t take three seconds to speak with Violet?”

  “I forgot!” Robert said. “She didn’t come on our walk, which is when I’d planned to talk to her. Besides, when the two of you are together, you take over everything!”

  “We can’t help being the most interesting people in the room,” Sebastian shot back. “But this time, it will be different. We’re…not entirely at ease with one another right now; why do you think I told you to invite her instead of doing it myself?”

  Oliver turned to Sebastian. “Still? You have been arguing with one another since May.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. It’s complicated.”

  “Arguing with Violet?” Robert echoed. “Good God, Sebastian. What on earth is there for you and Violet to argue over?”

  Sometimes, Sebastian wondered if his cousins saw him at all. It had been years since he’d given his first lecture, but neither of them had ever managed to reconcile themselves to his career as a scientist. That actually came out in their favor most days, as his career as a scientist was based on fraud and deceit. Still, he sometimes wondered if they ever took him seriously.

  That was partially his choice. After all, he was so rarely serious.

  And so now, he simply shrugged. “It shifts. At present, we’re arguing over the fact that I’ve been in love with her for half my life. This does not comport with her view of me, and so she wishes I had not told her.”

  Oliver rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s likely.”

  Sebastian looked away. “Your opinion, dreadfully uninformed as it is, is noted and discarded.”

  Robert let out a sigh. “Really, Sebastian. Talk sense and be serious.”

  No. Of course they didn’t believe him. “Very well. Give me a moment.” He spun in a circle, putting his hands over his face as he did. He held his hands in place for a few dramatic heartbeats, and then flung his arms wide. “Behold! I am now Serious Sebastian. Serious Sebastian can say only Serious Things.” He scowled at them both. “Right now, Serious Sebastian wants to know why you are not bitterly ashamed to have forgotten Violet.”

  “Right,” Robert said. “That’s a convincing representation of a serious man.”

  Sebastian pointed a finger at the duke. “Serious Sebastian is not amused by your attempt to change the subject. Serious Sebastian insists that you stop arguing with me and go get Violet right now.”

  “Oh, come on, it can wait a minute. I’ve just poured champagne, and I thought we might have a toast before—”

  It was one thing for Robert to shrug off Sebastian. Sebastian consciously tried to lighten things up, after all—a necessary role when his cousins were both too serious. But to shrug off Violet? Brittle, brilliant Violet, the one who had fostered the bond between Sebastian and Robert in the first place?

  Sebastian took a step forward. “You want to see me serious?” He glared at Robert. His cousin was an inch taller than him, but when Sebastian took another step toward him, he blinked and backed away. “Here. I’m serious. Violet is upstairs in a room all alone. She doesn’t know anyone else here—nobody except Jane, who is busy tonight with her sister.” He jabbed a finger into Robert’s chest. “You’ve known her since you were four years old. And maybe you can’t remember, but I can. She made games for us when we were young. She had half of Eton playing cards by her rules, except they never knew they were hers.”

  Robert frowned reluctantly. “I suppose there is something to that.”

  “Stop supposing and use your brain. She’s widowed. She has no children. Her mother is…not warm. Her sister is a viper who does her utmost to make Violet feel inadequate.”

  “Lily? Little Lily? Are we remembering the same girl?” Robert’s eyes narrowed. “She’s a little vapid, but sweet. I thought.”

  “You’re a terrible judge of human nature,” Sebastian muttered. “We are her friends. Look at what she’s done for you. She put herself out to help Minnie survive those first years after you married her. And Jane—she befriended Jane the instant we realized Oliver was falling in love with her. And you just forgot she existed.”

  “I…” Robert’s eyes dropped. “You’re right. That was bad of me. As soon as we toast—”

  “None of that. Get Violet right this instant,” Sebastian snapped, “or I’m leaving this room.”

  “Of course. But first—”

  And that was the end of it. Sebastian wasn’t quite sure what came over him, but he simply held up one finger, interrupting his cousin. “Oh, look. The instant has passed.”

  “Very funny, Sebastian.”

  Ridiculous. A joke. Not serious. They’d never taken Sebastian seriously—and they’d never appreciated Violet, either.

  Robert and Oliver had found each other at the age of twelve and called themselves brothers. Sebastian had always stood a little outside their friendship. He was the one who donned the comic mask, the one who made them laugh.

  Sebastian didn’t usually blame them…much. Robert had been so dreadfully lonely; Oliver had been brought up with a family who, despite their sterling qualities, hadn’t prepared him to travel in higher social circles. Sebastian had his own brother; he hadn’t needed them the way they’d needed each other.

  It was one thing to discount Sebastian—he was used to it. He expected it, courted it, even. But Violet? Nobody ever saw her. She made everything happen, and still she remained invisible even to the people she loved the most. Every slight that had ever been laid on him, she’d felt three hundredfold.

  He was beyond furious. He had always thought “I couldn’t see straight” was a ridiculous turn of phrase, but the room narrowed around him, the banner floating over his head darkening. “Right,” he heard himself say from a great distance. “I’m done.”

  He turned.

  “What?” he heard Robert saying behind him. “What in the world was that?”

  “I think he really was serious,” Oliver said.

  Sebastian stalked away, slamming the door shut on them both.

  A POLITE RAP SOUNDED on Violet’s door.

  She blinked and looked up. Her eyes hurt—why did her eyes hurt?

  Ah. Because it was almost full dark and she had been reading without a lamp. She hadn’t even noticed the fading of the light; it had come on so gradually that her eyes had strained and strained…

  Another rap came at the door and she shook her head, disca
rding the question of light and reading. She remembered herself long enough to shut her copy of La Mode Illustrée.

  She hadn’t been perusing the woodcut fashion plates. But the size of the periodical was so perfect that she often brought one along. She could slice journal articles out and lay them between the pages. When she did, nobody ever paid attention to her reading.

  She steeled herself for the sight of Sebastian, and when she had a sufficiently indifferent look on her face, she called out. “Come in.”

  The door opened. It wasn’t Sebastian; it was Robert, and behind him, Oliver.

  “Good heavens,” said Robert. “Why are you sitting up here all alone in the dark?”

  “I was reading,” Violet explained.

  “Without a lamp?”

  “It was…engrossing,” Violet said. She folded her hands in front of her and raised her chin. So long as she acted as if her little foibles were ordinary, most people didn’t ask too many questions.

  Robert glanced at the magazine on her desk, barely visible in the gathering gloom, and shook his head in confusion. “I…see. Well, Oliver and I are here because we’re having a little get-together of the Brothers Sinister tonight. We wanted you to come.”

  She frowned at him. “I’m only an honorary member—”

  They exchanged more pointed glances. Then Robert did his best to give her an engaging smile. “I don’t want to hear about you being only an honorary member. That is… I think…which is to say, we think…” He took a deep breath. “We’ve realized that calling you an honorary member is something of an insult. I’ve known you longer than almost anyone in the entire world. You’ve brought me through hard times, and, well… I’ve been an ass. I’m sorry.” And he extended his left hand to her.

  Slowly, Violet reached out and shook his hand. She had no idea what he was apologizing for.

  “I have been an ass,” he said again. “I am sorry. I hate feeling left out of anything, and to think that I did that to you…” He shook his head. “God. I really am sorry, Violet.”